(This was posted last October and got a lot of great feedback, so I’m reposting for those of you who would like a refresher on Zombie Catholicism. I added a particular prayer at the end of the post that has helped me personally keep the zombies at bay)
Halloween is just around the corner. And as usual, I expect to see my fair share of kids trick-r-treating in their zombie get-ups: pasty white masks with dark, vacant circles for eyes, torn shirts and pants, occasionally a little flourish of fake blood splattered here or there. It’s usually the teenagers who go all out with the most gruesome costumes, but occasionally a five-year-old will greet me at the doorstep decked out in full zombie face paint and garb. I respond the same way each time. “Oh… wow…quite a costume,” I stutter with my best perma-smile. “My, look at all that blood… here’s your candy,” I murmur, avoiding eye contact while timidly dropping a couple snickers in the outstretched bag. Then I anxiously scan the perimeter to make sure there aren’t any zombie parents lurking nearby.
Don’t chuckle. Zombies exist. They dwell in our midst.
Continue reading “Beware! Are you a ZOMBIE Catholic?”
“Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks, receives; and the one who seeks, finds; and to the one who knocks, the door will be opened.”
—Matthew 7, 7-8
I was reading a very insightful reflection on prayer recently and was struck by something mentioned. It stood out because the author advised a practice I normally don’t adhere to.
“Pray boldly!” it stated in very clear black and white.
Hmmm… this shocked me to be quite honest. The writer’s directive for having a successful prayer life was essentially ‘to go big or go home.’ Huh.
What does praying BOLDLY even look like?
Continue reading “Holding Out for a Miracle”
When my kids were really small and just learning to talk they occasionally told “fibs.”
“I don’t know how that gross banana got mashed into the carpet. I think I umm… just found it like that.”
Their little half-truths coupled with their beguiling faces were just too cute. I couldn’t consider their stories lies. “Lie” is such an ugly word. My kids told fibs.
Continue reading “A Big Whopper of a Lie”
Sacramentals do not confer the grace of the Holy Spirit in the way that the sacraments do, but by the Church’s prayer, they prepare us to receive grace and dispose us to cooperate with it. “For well-disposed members of the faithful, the liturgy of the sacraments and sacramentals sanctifies almost every event of their lives with the divine grace which flows from the Paschal mystery of the Passion, Death, and Resurrection of Christ. From this source all sacraments and sacramentals draw their power. There is scarcely any proper use of material things which cannot be thus directed toward the sanctification of men and the praise of God.” —1670, Catechism of the Catholic Church
I have a 5”x7’’ picture of the face of Jesus on the dresser directly across from the bed. It’s a pretty popular characterization of Christ that I suspect can be found in many Catholic homes. What makes the rendering especially moving are His eyes. They follow me. Not in the menacing way I imagined portraits and pictures did when I was younger. It’s a non-threatening, loving stare. His eyes search for me, pleading, imploring.
Continue reading “Finding Christ in the Clutter”
Recently, during some quiet prayer time, I received a “God smack.” (Probably not the technical term for this phenomenon, but it seems really applicable in this particular situation.) I’m not talking about a light cuff to the ear, I mean a swift crack across the cheek—think Cher’s gutsy wallop unleashed on an unsuspecting Nicolas Cage in the 1980’s classic, Moonstruck. Thwack! “Snap out of it!” said with an impatient New York accent. It’s the kind of divine blow that leaves your skin stinging and your mind reeling. And there’s no denying it makes you stand at attention. I don’t mean to suggest that God, who is all goodness Himself, would resort to violence, but that my realization, most likely prompted by Him, resulted in a physical jolt. God had certainly caught my attention. Continue reading “God Smack”
My oldest son is a good speller. Many might even say, “a great speller.” As the woman who bore him, I put him squarely in the “great speller” camp. Heck, I’d even classify him as:
Last winter, he took part in the Denver Archdiocesan spelling bee for 4th and 5th graders. He was in the 4th grade and had never been in a contest in his life. (Unless you count the times he and his brother and sister test their skills to see who can make the loudest armpit farts. And these challenges never result in a clear winner—their fit of giggles and my shock and horror put the legitimacy of the judging into serious question.) Continue reading “Bees & Beads”
How do I know God is a gentleman? He proved it a couple years ago. I am reminded of it every time I’m irked for not getting the proper credit for a selfless act… during my Mother Teresa-like life of service. This is where I would add one of those annoying wink emoji’s. Those of you who know me right now are rolling your eyes and settling in for a good yarn to be spun. I promise I won’t disappoint. Continue reading “God is a Gentleman”